


Cannonade

by OxfordOctopus



Series: OxfordOctopus' Snips'n'Snaps [35]
Category: Parahumans Series - Wildbow
Genre: Alt-Power Taylor Hebert, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Major Character Injury, Wounds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:55:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27151439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OxfordOctopus/pseuds/OxfordOctopus
Summary: Getting shot wasn't worth getting powers. It never was.No wonder people never talked about it.
Series: OxfordOctopus' Snips'n'Snaps [35]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1435474
Comments: 8
Kudos: 62





	Cannonade

**Author's Note:**

> so i wanted to do a few things with this snip, among which was explore what it might look like from an outside perspective for a v. public trigger & also just, explore more 'conventional' powers? like, we don't see many flying brick/alexandria package taylors, nor do we see many flying artillery taylors. so i made one. simple. also i just wanted to write worm stuff, i guess?

The sky was the sort of overcast that preluded rain. Thick, heavy sheets of murky gray clouds stretched vast and unendingly across the sky, without a single gap to let the sun in. Yet, still, they hadn’t quite let loose the torrents of rain that she was relatively sure would accompany them, and were instead content to hang like a promise thick with anticipation.

Sarah eased her flight down, the air cutting past her face, dragging against her damp hair. Below her, streets and buildings crawled by, nearly a blur, tight grids of residential housing and smaller communities in various states of disrepair. This part of the city wasn’t the worst, no, that dubious honour went to what was left of the disparate suburbs up near the railyard, but it certainly wasn’t the best. Not by any stretch of the imagination, in any event.

Casting her head up further, she caught sight of her destination. Winslow High School stood at the top of a long hill, perched at the very peak, built sturdy and notably heavy, in the style of design that had so rapidly proliferated not long after the first powers started to appear. It might look almost brutalist, if not for the shoddy brickwork facade and the shape of the building itself, which resembled a ‘U’.

Easily over five hundred students huddled outside, pressed tightly to fit along the flat plane of the parking lot. Teachers stood away from the crowd, looking around nervously, while surrounding all of it were a small number of cop cars and, more distinctly, a pair of PRT vans. The area already had a perimeter set up around it, small groups of 2 or 3 with barricades blocking off possible ways to exit the parking lot. Troopers lingered near the vans, doing gear checks and going over plans, while two of them - who she was assuming were the leaders, it was hard to tell with the uniform equipment - were further away, speaking with a thin, narrow sort of woman with a severe bowl cut.

At her side, standing out if only by contrast, was Velocity, arms folded over his chest.

Slowing her flight, Sarah eased herself down, descending in a slow arc. A few officers caught sight of her first, glancing up and pointing, a few jolting, almost reaching for their guns, though thankfully nothing came of it. She could forgive that much, considering the situation that was going on.

Velocity - and the woman he was standing beside - were the last to notice, only glancing her way as she was within speaking distance of them. Velocity smiled wanly, mouth stretched thin, a reluctant sort of smile that was only being sent her way out of politeness.

Feet touching the ground, ignoring the low noise of chatter from the nearby student body, Sarah gave him a nod. “Velocity.”

“Lady Photon,” Velocity greeted back, in turn. “Thank you for making it.”

“It’s the least that I could do.”

Velocity smiled thinly again, but said nothing.

“Do we have details on what exactly is happening?” she asked, glancing towards one of the two officers. He was tall, taller than her by almost a head, and built thick in every way she could tell, not that she could identify much beneath the full-face mask and the padded armour.

“Two reports coinciding. One was a report about a person made out of ‘purple smoke or sand’ rushing through a classroom. That’s what set off the initial alarm—shooter protocols, and all that.” His voice was slightly muffled behind the mask he wore, but not enough that she couldn’t make him out. “After that, reports of loud banging, things breaking, sorta like explosions, and reports of ‘orange beams of energy’ being seen briefly too.”

“The first one sounds like Shadow Stalker,” Velocity pointed out thoughtfully, before glancing at the two of them. “You, er, she’s been on the PRT radar. Vigilante, been active for more than three years? Can turn intangible, mostly uses a crossbow.”

“Think she goes to Winslow?” she asked, glancing towards the school. “Maybe responding to a threat?”

“Only if she knew about it beforehand, and you would think she would’ve come out by now if so. Might be more complicated than that.”

Fair. Sarah inclined her head mutedly, not taking her eyes off of the school. “How long since the last report of noise or beams?”

“Three, four minutes ago?” The PRT officer hedged. “Basically the exact moment we asked if you could come in as backup.”

The situation felt slightly off. Shadow Stalker was notably reclusive, avoiding interacting with her peers on the streets unless it was to work with them to take a target down. She wasn’t well-liked among the Brockton Bay cape scene for any number of reasons, though chief among them was certainly the fact that she could be a little too violent when the urge struck her. Still, it didn’t fit for her to be seen first, then the blasts to start later, especially not in that context.

“Where’d all of this take place in the school?” Sarah tried, glancing towards the one and only civilian in the group. She wasn’t sure if she was an important member of the staff, but even a teacher might shed some light on that.

The woman drew herself up for a moment, folding her hands together. “It happened in the west wing,” she explained, a little shrill. “The west wing, it’s mostly abandoned due to us not having enough classes to fill it. It used to be where most of the art-related classes were hosted. Band, drama, that sort of thing. It’s also unfortunately regularly used as a meeting spot for people to sell drugs during off-periods. We try to keep the area closely monitored, but...”

She took a moment to collect herself, hesitating briefly before reaching up to wipe some of the dampness away from her forehead with one sleeve. “It started near my office,” she explained belatedly. “The doors leading into the west wing, they’re always closed, but students have managed to jimmy them open and leave rocks to use it as a shortcut and such.”

Glancing away from the woman, Sarah spared Velocity a glance. Soundlessly, standing just outside of the woman’s line of sight, he mouthed ‘the principal’ in her direction.

Ah, now her behaviour made sense.

“The west wing isn’t the, er, west arm of the building, it’s just the name we use to refer to a hallway on the main floor,” the principal began again, glancing back towards the building. “You’ll find it not long after you enter, the doors are on either end of the main area, just next to the hallways that lead to the other arms of the building.”

“Where did Shadow Stalker get spotted?”

The principal stared at her for a moment, blinking a few times, not a bit of intelligence glittering behind her hazy eyes, before finally, it clicked. “I believe it was the computer science room?”

“It was,” the PRT officer confirmed.

“Which is?” Sarah probed.

“In the direction of the west wing if you’re going from where most of the lockers are,” the principal replied.

Breathing out, Sarah nodded. “We have an unknown parahuman—unless you have any reports of a nomadic villain who might want to get in on high school drug peddling?” She glanced towards the PRT trooper again, who shook his head.

“No. We have a few nomads in the area. Scour’s around, we think, she shoots lasers from her eyes and we think can see through objects. Lasers selectively avoid certain things. But her lasers are always purple, and they don’t curve—just straight lines.” The PRT trooper paused. “That and she’s not in the area, just sighted near the fringes of Brockton Bay this morning.”

“Anyone else?”

“Rhinestone does patrol this area, but I don’t think he’d fit in at school, and we’d know if it was him, the school would have several more holes than it’s used to if he was. Purity—well, not orange beams, for starters, and the same principle applies to her as it does Rhinestone,” he continued, sounding slightly distracted. “Unknown is the most likely. Maybe a fresh trigger?”

“It’s for the best we go into things expecting just an unknown, rather than a new or inexperienced parahuman,” Velocity said. “Relying on a lack of information doesn’t work when it comes to things like this. There might not have been any fatalities, but witnesses say the lasers punched holes in walls. Best to play it safe.”

Honestly, that was the most she’d ever really heard Velocity speak before. He was a generally reserved man, preferring to let his teammates speak for him, and rarely ever took part in public events. He could hold a conversation, and he didn’t seem _averse_ to conversation, but it had always seemed like he was never entirely comfortable with it either.

“We’re ready, Captain Haus,” a new voice interrupted, drawing everyone’s attention. A trooper stood, her hand resting on one hip next to her gun, fingers twitching. “No signs at attempted breaches. Things are still quiet in the school, but we have the all-clear to move forward.”

Captain Haus, presumably, glanced her way, his sheer bulk half-concealing the smaller trooper behind him. “Any thoughts?” He asked.

“I can run vanguard, at least for now. My flight might not be terribly useful but my shields will work for barricades in the event we have to face down fire.” There wasn’t really a good way to do an engagement in situations like this, especially without much in the way of sight on their target. “Does that work for you?”

Captain Haus glanced towards his colleague, not the smaller woman, but rather a man that was, in contrast to Captain Haus’ bulk, tall and limber in a way that not even his PRT-issued full-body riot gear could quite conceal. Instead of saying anything, the man just nodded.

“Alright!” Captain Haus bellowed, loud enough that it just about echoed off the surrounding environment. “Squad six! We’re going in the front! Squad twelve! You’re taking up the back door. We are working under blaster, stranger, mover and breaker protocols for potential threats! Threes on all just for safety! Lady Photon here will be riding vanguard with the ones going in through the front, Velocity will be providing supportive scouting and engagement with both squads as necessary!”

The groups of PRT troopers moved without hesitation, forming ranks. Half peeled off, marching down the length of the concrete towards the far other end of the school while the other half closed ranks around Captain Haus.

“This is now an active engagement zone!” Captain Haus continued, turning his head towards the crowd of students and teachers. “Teachers! Please move the children off school grounds! Other civilians should do the same!”

The crowd of civilians, by contrast, was slower to start. They moved like a wave at first, bits of the pressed-together mob peeling away and making towards the edge of school property, before, in their wake, people started to rush, clearly unwilling to be close to the potential fight. A few people hesitated, among them being a ginger teenage girl with a gaggle of followers around her, tugging at her arm to try to get her to go, and a blonde boy, staring very focusedly at the wall, looking stubborn as could be, before completely folding when a teacher came over and verbally insisted he go.

Wordlessly, Captain Haus approached her, extending one gloved hand out, on which was an earpiece.

Thanking him under her breath, Sarah brought the piece up to her ear, easing it inside with a bit of a wince. They never fit right, but at least this one felt secure. Glancing back towards Captain Haus, she caught sight of him miming tapping the earpiece in question, which she repeated. There was a _click_ , then the low din of static.

“ _We are approaching the back entrance now._ ”

Captain Haus, not looking away from her, grunted. She could hear it echoed in her earpiece. “Got it. Lieutenant Jones, be on standby until my say.”

“ _Affirmative._ ”

Twisting around, Captain Haus motioned towards her with a nod before beginning to make his way towards the front entrance. Tracing after him, the other PRT troopers followed with hands on, holding, or at the very least near their weaponry. One, in particular, was carrying the eponymous grenade-launcher-style handheld weapon, with a belt of confoam canisters and flash grenades tucked around his waist.

Sarah kept pace with the rest of the troopers, letting Captain Haus lead, and Velocity seemed inclined to do the same. The closer they got to the school, the more looming the silence and inactivity became, but she’d done this before, had dealt with the anticipation that led into conflict many, many times. She breathed in and out, taking a deeper breath to settle her nerves, without missing a beat.

She might not have taken part in an operation in a while, but it certainly didn’t mean she was back to being new and nervous, unable to stand the building anticipation.

They arrived at the steps to the school in little time, Captain Haus raising a hand to pause. “Lieutenant Jones, are you on standby?”

“ _Yessir._ ”

“On my count, then. We’re moving in silent, but go loud when necessary.” Captain Haus eased himself backwards, stepping behind several of the troops who, in turn, stepped forward, brandishing riot shields with one hand. The rest of the unit fanned out around them, taking up specific positions as required, and Sarah found herself being eased into the middle line just behind the first, her power drumming in her veins like a bell, anticipation fizzing at the tips of her fingers.

“On three.”

The troops arrived at the front doors, thick wooden things with small, wedge-shaped windows at their tops, not even remotely enough to see into the main foyer. Hands reached out to press against the metal bars that the doors were operated with.

“Two.”

Sarah smoothed her breathing, quieted her heart.

“One.”

The doors pushed.

“Go.”

Winslow’s main entrance was all the world exactly what you’d expect to find in a low-income high school. Handmade posters were spread across the white material of the walls, carved just-so to make it resemble bricks. The floors were linoleum or something close, and the lights that lit the area were almost bare, some missing the casings that normally surrounded the long fluorescent bulbs.

The entire main entrance was more of a single hallway, too. It was wider near where the doors were, but quickly closed in to form a stretch of hallway from one end to the other, packed full with small classrooms and offices. To her left, a door with ‘main office’ written across a plaque above it sat just shy of a pair of heavy fire-resistant doors, one of which had been shoved to one side, a hinge broken off, hanging precariously from the bottom half and slightly at an angle.

It was, also, the only sign of any conflict having taken place. It was a little messy, no doubt from the rush to leave the school, but nobody but them was there and it didn’t exactly look like a fight took place.

“ _Back entrance is clear, sir,_ ”

“As is the front, Lieutenant,” Captain Haus said. “Keep heading down the arm of the school, the back entrance leads in a line straight towards us. You’ll find a computer science room, check to see if Shadow Stalker’s still around or hiding out there.”

“ _Affirmative, sir._ ”

“Keep me posted.” Turning back to them, Captain Haus motioned towards the heavy door. “Rank up, prepare for possible enemy fire. Do we have any tools to bring the door down?”

There was a murmur of dissent.

“I can,” Sarah cut in, glancing towards them. “I’ll need a few seconds, but I should be able to break the hinge off.”

“Simmons, Richard, form ranks ahead of her,” Captain Haus barked, the two troopers with shields closing in a bit tighter near her.

After a moment, she moved, approaching the front door with careful, quiet steps. It wouldn’t remain quiet for long, but the chance of surprising the target was always a valuable one. Getting closer, it became clear that the door itself had been ripped from the frame rather abruptly, as the hinge that had been pulled free had a chunk of door frame to go along with it, torn and jagged near the edges.

Willing her power into her hand, Sarah tightened a metaphorical grip around her power, narrowed the intensity of the beam down until it felt like it was building up in the base of her wrist. Easing her hand a little ways out, she kept less than a foot between the tips of her fingers and the unbroken hinge, tightened her grip, and released. The purple beam that left her was thin and singular, unlike the more rapid-fire she preferred, leaping across to the fixture in front of her and impacting with a strong _crunch_. Wood and metal splintered beneath it, and what grip the door had left was torn away, causing it to topple.

Reaching out with her power again, this time with significantly less restraint, Sarah drew a line-that-wasn’t-a-line with a metaphorical hand-that-wasn’t-a-hand across the air in front of her, a purple wall shimmering into place in front of her, catching the falling door before it could crush her or the troopers. It skid, then, the bottom half of the door dragged out from underneath it while the top half was pulled down the length of her shield, landing on the ground with a tremendous, ear-aching _bang_.

The west wing was, in a word, a complete wreck. The walls bore obvious signs of a fight, places where the rock had been carved away by a beam of force being moved along an angle. The deepest out of them bore scorch marks, places where whatever the beam was had lingered and chafed hard enough to burn. The floor was a mess, with blood spattered here-and-there, interspersed with other similar gouges to the ones on the walls.

In the middle of it all, in the one place entirely untouched by the damage, was a teenager. She was lithe, with a sprawl of curly black hair that framed her face, pale skin standing out from beneath baggy, dark-toned clothes. Her exact build wasn’t clear, buried beneath her clothing as she was, but Sarah could make a good estimate that she was thin, the sort of lithe that was uncomfortably close to anorexic. She was sitting on the ground, legs splayed out in front of her, barely remaining upright.

She had opened her mouth, ready to bark for her to stay down, when she saw the fletching. In the center of her belly, standing out like a planted flag, was a bolt.

“We need medical evac as soon as possible,” Sarah barked into her mic, pushing past her two guards as she rapidly approached. The blood around the girl was surprisingly little, and the front of her jacket, while stained with it, didn’t look soaked through. “Teenage girl, black hair, white and thin is wounded. Crossbow bolt in dead center of her stomach.”

The closer she got, though, the more she started to hear it. A low murmur, desperate, like someone trying to work themselves down from a panic attack. A whispered “oh god oh god oh god”, something coming from the girl, who hadn’t noticed her. Not yet.

“Miss?” Sarah tried.

The girl jolted, then let out a noise of agony, hand reaching out to the shaft of the fletching, tightening into a fist and—

Sarah launched forward, caught her wrist before she could. “Don’t pull it,” she said, the girl freezing taut like a wire in her grip, but relaxing not long after. “If who shot you with this is who I think it is, it’s a broadhead. You can’t pull it out.”

Finally, the girl stared at her. Pale-skinned, a slightly gaunt face, with a mouth a little too wide for its own good. Her large eyes were glassy, hidden behind thick-framed, box-shaped glasses that gave her something of a gawky look. After a few moments with nothing happening behind her eyes, something finally clicked, and the girl, very slowly, nodded, her arm going limp in Sarah’s grip.

Letting the wrist go, Sarah stepped back. “I’m Lady Photon,” she explained, trying to keep her voice calm. “Things are going to be alright, can you tell me your name?”

For a moment, the teenager stared back up at her, jaw grit, eyes flicking back and forth. Looking for something, looking for a threat, possibly. It was a viscerally stubborn look, the sort that she worried might mean that the girl was going to refuse to say anything, but, finally, she slumped. “Taylor Hebert,” her voice came out in a rasp, slightly pained and uncomfortable.

“ _We can have an ambulance here in five. Do you need a stretcher?_ ” A voice, unfamiliar, asked on the other end of the line.

“Alright, Taylor,” Sarah said, easing one hand up to press her fingers into the button on her earpiece. “I’m going to make a stretcher for you, I need you to not touch the bolt, okay? You’re very lucky with how little you’re bleeding right now, any strong jostling can and will change that.”

Taylor shifted, mutinous for another moment, before relaxing again, her hands falling to her sides, where they wadded into fists. “Okay,” she murmured hoarsely, voice faltering as she shifted uncomfortably.

Drawing another shield beneath Taylor was rudimentary, and without much in the way of reaction time needed. She heard the affirmation from the other end of the line, telling her they’d understood her message, but didn’t bother to reply. Now really wasn’t the time. Purple energy, finally, shimmered into place beneath the teenager, and with a mental tug, eased itself into the air, Taylor making a low, pained noise at the sudden movement.

“Sorry,” Sarah said quickly, pressing one hand into the edge of the shield to steady it out.

Taylor shook her head back and forth for a moment, fists clenching and unclenching as she visibly restrained herself from grabbing at the bolt again. Her own experiences with being stabbed were mostly filled with a hazy sort of pain, but for the time that the object had remained lodged in her, it had been possibly one of the most uncomfortable things she had ever felt. She could only really sympathize with what she was going through.

The troops parted easily as she passed, and as she exited out through the doorway and into the hallway, she caught sight of the other troopers huddled near Captain Haus and what she was assuming was Lieutenant Jones, the latter of which was shaking his head. No dice on Shadow Stalker, then.

Ignoring them, she made a line for the main entrance, being careful to keep the shield floating steadily. Taylor made a few other noises on the move over, tensing and hissing through her teeth, and had at some point resorted to gripping the edges of the platform with a white-knuckled grip, but was otherwise faring surprisingly well.

Outside, it was easier to breathe. The air was getting more humid, thicker with each passing moment, rain looming ever closer.

Breathing out through her nose, Sarah eased everything to a stop, wincing as Taylor let out another noise of complaint. Reaching towards her belt, she flicked open one of the pouches, easing a pocket knife out and keeping it wrapped in her fist. “Taylor,” she started. “I want to check your wound to make sure nothing’s wrong, but I’ll need to cut some of your clothes because the bolt is holding them down. Is that okay?”

Taylor glanced at her, hazy for a moment, before with significantly less reluctance, nodding. “Okay, okay, okay. Okay.”

Right. She was clearly coping with things poorly. Flicking the knife open, Sarah eased the blade first up along the fabric of her lumpy sweater, straight up the center until her cut met the cut made by the bolt, revealing an off-green shirt beneath it, clotted with blood. Due to how soaked it was, cutting the shirt away was significantly more difficult, however once she got a good enough grip against the blade, it parted all the same.

She’d been expecting several things, going into this. She was certified in first aid, and she knew how to handle puncture wounds. She had been a significant part in the fight against Marquis in the past, and his abilities lent themselves to spearing people with bone and, if he got the chance, causing people’s bones to spear out of them. She knew what a puncture wound looked like, red and inflamed around the point where the material bit into the flesh, possibly even dimpled due to a blunted tip, where the skin and flesh had been pinched down during the penetration process.

There was nothing like that for Taylor. The bolt was certainly embedded in her, yes, and there _was_ certainly a wound, already scabbing over, but there was barely any inflamed tissue. It looked like an older wound, possibly a couple of days at most.

Glancing up, she saw Taylor look down and see much the same, her skin, already noticeable for its pallor, somehow blanching further.

Swallowing thickly, Sarah breathed out. “You’re not in any trouble, Taylor,” she tried, because it was generally better to start off with something like that. “But, can you please tell me what happened?”

The fact that none of the scorch marks had touched her should’ve been obvious. It wasn’t that they had missed her, it was that they had _originated_ from her.

Taylor stared at her for a moment, eyes swimming, looking viscerally overwhelmed. For a moment, that stubbornness returned, that peevish distrust, it all spilled over her face. She grit her teeth, flexed her hands, clearly trying to come up with something before, almost painfully, she crumpled.

“I... am getting bullied,” she said hoarsely.

Sarah felt herself grow a bit uneasy. Generally, preluding a situation where projectiles were being fired with ‘I am getting bullied’ meant nothing good.

“One of them, Sophia, she—she’s the most violent. Liked to punch and hit me.” The words sounded painful for her to speak, not just physically, but like she didn’t want to admit it. “I was walking by the gym during my free period, they’d apparently had to go back inside or something, because Sophia’s bag was left out in the hallway near the gym entrance.”

A swallow, heavy in her throat.

“I, I wasn’t sure what I was doing, but I kicked it. I was angry. It fell over, and... I saw the crossbow inside.”

Despite everything, Sarah felt things settle. At least this wasn’t a ‘I had powers and tried to kill my bullies’ situation. Or, at least, if she was telling the truth, anyway. They’d have to verify that.

“I ran, you know? She’s already violent in the first place, and I wanted to tell the principal. So I went into the west wing, because it’s empty and—and... people don’t, really like me here. And when I was about to get to the door, Sophia was there.” Her voice cracked at the end, high and reedy, sounding terrified. “With the crossbow. I don’t know how she caught up with me but she pointed it at me and said nothing and then she fired and—”

Taylor took in a great, gasping wheeze, almost a sob. “It hurt. I... things are blurry, but I was on the ground, she was on the ground. I just—I just _wanted_ to get her in trouble. I wanted her to stop, and she just, attacked me, and then I felt this burning in my bones, and I just, reached out, and let it out.” Another breath, tight and almost a wheeze. “She turned into, into smoke or something, and the orange beams passed through her. I kept firing, she kept becoming smoke, she tried to hit me, but—but it hurt her? She shot me again, too, but it didn’t penetrate, just left a cut. I thought it hit bone or something.”

A trigger event. Velocity had been right.

Shit.

This... complicated and simplified things at the same time. Especially if what she was saying held true—laser blasts and enhanced durability, then she’d not be able to pass even rudimentary scrutiny by the emergency responders. She needed her identity concealed.

Reaching into her pouch, she tugged free one of her replacement domino masks. A similar model to the ones she’d used, back when New Wave had been the Brigade. It had been stupid, but she had kept them on herself for possible covert operations, just in case her identity was something that needed to be contested. It never got used, because New Wave didn’t _do_ covert after they had gone public, but still.

Reaching up with her other hand, Sarah tapped her earpiece. “Velocity?”

“ _Lady Photon?_ ”

“What do you use for fresh triggers, blasters with lasers? I know the PRT keeps a list of temporary names.”

“ _Er,_ ” there was silence for a moment. “ _Lightshow, I think? Or that might be for energy blasters in general._ ”

Glancing back towards Taylor, who was looking at her with confused, worried eyes, Sarah held out the mask towards her. “I need you to put this on, it’ll adhere to your skin after a few moments. You’re going by the name Lightshow for now, okay? If anyone asks what you’re called, answer with Lightshow.”

* * *

_Click. "Hello, if you’re hearing this message, you have reached the voicemail of CAROL DALLON, please lea—”_

“Goddammit Carol,” Sarah cursed, cutting the phone off with a sharp tap of her thumb. She pulled up her contacts again, swiping down until she reached the _next_ possible line she could reach her at. “Why can’t you just pick up for once—”

“Aunt Sarah?”

Blinking, Sarah glanced askance, off down the hallway of the hospital. Amy stared at her from several feet away, half-slouched, hands mindlessly tapping at about where her pockets would be, had her costume come with any. She looked tired.

Which would make sense, considering she wasn’t actually supposed to be working until tomorrow. “Amy, do you know where your mother is?”

“At work?” she hedged warily.

Sarah shook her head. “Tried that, I need to get ahold of her. I came here with—”

“A girl with a crossbow bolt in her stomach,” Amy finished succinctly. “She uh, I just finished up with her. She mentioned you, it’s why I came out.”

Speaking of. “Amy, why are you here?” She tried not to let it sound like she was being reproachful, but it probably came out that way, if the way Amy cringed almost reflexively into herself was any indication. Carol’s perfectionist mindset had transferred over to Amy in possibly the worst way imaginable.

“Well—” she faltered for a moment, folding her hands awkwardly. “Because of Winslow, the other schools were let out for the day, too. I came over because...” She trailed off, fidgeting again. “I just needed to help,” she finished in a mutter, withdrawn.

“We have specific hours for you to prevent you from burning out,” Sarah pointed out, trying to keep her tone light. “That and to prevent people from over-relying on the assistance of one person with, I should mention, her _own_ life to take care of.”

Amy’s face grew a bit blotchy, twisting into a decidedly defensive expression, before smoothing back out into that tired neutrality she wore like plated armour. She withdrew again, building up that impersonal wall that she rarely ever let down, her hands falling limp at her sides. “I’ll go sign out,” she replied flatly.

Sarah quietly reminded herself that Amy was a _teenager_ and it was not a great idea to explode on her, inclining her head once in a nod. “And I won’t tell Carol, alright?”

Some of the tension in Amy’s posture relaxed, and she opened her mouth to comment, only to be interrupted by the sudden, shrill ring of a cell phone.

Sarah glanced down at the one in her hand, ‘CAROL DALLON’ written across the call screen. “Speak of the devil.”

Amy snorted.

Sarah, pointedly, did not comment. Glancing back up at her erstwhile niece, she motioned vaguely at her with a twitch of her hand. “Go, shoo. You’ve done your duty, I need to talk to your mom.”

With a nod, Amy turned and shuffled back down the hallway, shoulders gradually rising up to meet her ears as she fell into her practiced slouch, hood sinking low below her eyebrows.

Pressing ‘talk’ on her phone, Sarah brought it up to her ear.

“ _Sarah, why on earth did you call nearly every phone?_ ” Carol bit out over the other end of the line, sounding annoyed. “ _If this isn’t an emergency, I’m pretty sure it can wait before I go back in to explain to a client why I had to unplug my phone._ ”

“That depends, I have a teenage girl who got shot in the stomach by a vigilante with a crossbow and triggered before accidentally ripping apart a hallway in her school. I managed to get a mask on her, but I frankly have no idea how to handle this, nor the legal side of things.” She paused, mostly for emphasis. “Is that enough of an emergency?”

Carol breathed out on the other end of the line, a long, staggered sigh. “ _No, I suppose that’s warranted. Anybody looking to press charges?_ ”

“The principal of the school made a few choice comments once it became clear that she was a parahuman when we were getting her into the ambulance, yes. The whole ‘recently triggered’ defence isn’t something written into law, how much trouble could she make?”

“ _More than is worth letting you handle_ ,” Carol responded, voice entirely honest, without a single bit of bite to it, and yet still somehow managing to be so exceptionally _Carol_. Sarah shut her eyes and reminded herself that while Carol _wasn’t_ a teenager, and was in fact an adult with a husband and two kids, it would still be very disruptive to begin yelling at her sister over the line. Again. Like they didn’t go through this nearly weekly. “ _What hospital?_ ”

“Gregory Central.”

“ _I’ll be there in five._ ”

The line cut.

Sarah pulled the phone back, watching ‘call ended’ flash across her screen a few times. She breathed out, glancing back towards where she knew Taylor was, and just hoped that this would be enough.

* * *

* * *

The room they had her in was different from the one she remembered back when she broke her arm in 2nd grade. It was larger, for starters, meant for two people but only occupied by her, with the other bed surrounded by a rail system that, when put into full use, let a curtain be pulled across to make a private barrier. Up on one of the walls was a television, mounted in place, on one of the local news channels.

Taylor tried not to look at it, since they were covering Winslow right now. Her only saving grace was that she’d been handed the remote and managed to mute it before they could start talking about it.

The blankets were starchy, rough against her skin, and the bed she was on was wrapped in plastic, making it slightly stick to her skin. She’d traded out her jeans and ruined shirt for a hospital gown, more of a slip that forced her to see her ribcage.

She let her hands drop down, hover over where the bolt used to be. It still felt like it should be there, like she should still feel the triangular head rocking against things that really shouldn’t be touched. She sucked in a breath, let her fingers flatten out over her stomach, trying to reassure herself that it wasn’t there anymore.

She couldn’t get the image of Sophia out of her head. Sophia just _standing_ there, crossbow in hand, levelled at her. No emotion, just a blank face with nothing but intent.

She’d always known Sophia had been more violent than the rest. Sophia was responsible for the bulk majority of the ‘physical’ side of things, for lack of a better term. Shoving, hitting, sometimes punching. Mostly a lot of shoving, usually into things. Things that left bruises that reminded her that she didn’t stand up for herself, not even once, as Sophia went about her day.

But bringing a crossbow to school? No. No, she’d... she’d thought she wouldn’t go that far. There was a line and it ended somewhere far behind bringing a lethal weapon to school, let alone in Brockton Bay, and so when she’d seen it she had just. Run. Bolted towards the principal’s because even if this made her a snitch it would at least be something the teachers couldn’t ignore, couldn’t handwave or tell her to get over.

Sophia was a threat, Sophia made herself into a threat by bringing something like that to school.

Taylor stared tiredly at her body, still splotchy with blood in places, crusting, the hospital gown showing most of it.

Look at where that got her, though?

She’d... it wasn’t entirely altruistic. She wasn’t doing it because it would make the world a better place to get Sophia in trouble. It was mostly because it would be something they _couldn’t_ ignore. They couldn’t brush her off for it, not when it’s about bringing ranged weapons to school.

Then again, that wasn’t the only thing Sophia had turned out to be. She was a cape, too, because of course she was.

But then, Taylor was too.

She could feel it now, the low simmer of heat in her body. It filled her, grew in intensity - not distractingly so, but somewhat - whenever she sat still or remained stationary. It made her feel heavier, more durable, took away that fog that she’d gotten in her brain because she hadn’t slept well the night before. Moving made her feel the opposite, colder in her stomach, but not in a bad way, almost weightless, but fragile.

None of this was even talking about the low buzz in her arms, around her stomach, near her eyes. She knew what would happen if she pulled on it, the beams would come out, but it... it felt nice. Reassuring. That it was there. She was safe enough with it, Sophia hadn’t been able to respond to her after she figured out how to properly fire it, spending most of her time a featureless cloud of purple-black vapour trying to avoid the endless spray she was putting out.

The endless spray of lasers that had destroyed the entire west wing, really.

Taylor felt herself pull into herself, felt the dread begin to settle in again. How were they going to pay for all of this, anyway? Blackwell had threatened her, said the school would sue over the damages, that _how dare she bring something like that into her school_. The hospital bills were barely a glimmer in comparison to that, though she doubted they’d even be able to cover that.

She was going to bankrupt Dad.

Fuck.

She brought her hands up before her eyes could burn, stubbing her palms against her glasses, cursing beneath her breath as the lenses came away smudged. She peeled them free from her face, ignored the way the world tore itself out of focus, and placed them on the table beside her bed before returning her palms to her eyes for real this time. It took a few moments, but the burning faded away again.

She still wasn’t entirely sure if that was _laser_ burning or _tears_ burning, but frankly she wanted neither of them, and at this point she wasn’t sure if she ever wanted to know. If she got this close to blowing a hole through a wall with just this much emotion, she wasn’t going to _survive_ going back to Winslow, if she went back at all. All things considered, Blackwell was probably halfway through writing her expulsion order.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Why did things always have to go this way for her? _Why_. Nothing could just be... be simple for her. She had a friend, then she lost her, and then she became her target. She finally had an out for Sophia, a way to actually get recompense for the shit they put her through, and she gets shot and gets powers and—

She sucked in a sob, refusing to let it out.

No wonder capes didn’t talk about how they got powers. There was no secret behind it, no potentially identifying incident, it just sucked. Today sucked, more than any other day. She wanted to curl up and die because she was about to have her fuck-ups, her actions, rip not only her life apart, but her dad’s.

She sniffled, sucked in the wet, gross feeling of being on the edge of tears, and did as she had learned to back when Mom died: she _repressed_. She shoved all of those negative little impulses into a box, put that box in another box, and then buried it, stomped on the burial mound until it was flat, and forced herself to be calm. She forced her breathing to come steadily and slowly, she forced every last bit of her body to _stop_. The tears stopped, the tensing and twitching stopped, for a moment even the phantom ache of being shot stopped.

Taylor breathed out. There were places she could go with this, she could find out ways to handle things. She’d... done some real damage, her powers were... well, she didn’t know how strong. She just knew they were _strong enough_. The PRT would take her, she could work with that. It could keep her and her dad afloat, at least, even if he wouldn’t like it. It was an out, a way to fix the imminent bills raining down on her head.

She was 14—almost fifteen. She could handle this. She... she wasn’t a kid anymore.

Wiping her eyes with her palms, to get rid of any errant evidence, Taylor finally just let herself breathe, staring up at the plain white ceiling. In, out. In, out. Simple.

The quiet lulled her for a while, silence echoing in her ears as a low keening, like some type of radio frequency. She could hear the birds outside of her window chirp and flutter, breaking up the silence, but nothing else. In the wake of the chaos, the screaming, the rushing bodies and the sound of her own powers slamming against things—well, it was a relief. Palpable, for a moment.

Then the murmuring started. Just outside of her door, growing stronger the closer they got. More than one voice, more than two, though she didn’t know how much higher it went. Some footsteps were heavy, others clicked-and-clacked against the ground, the words they spoke becoming clearer as they got nearer, but never so much that she could tell exactly what they were saying.

The knob to her door rattled. Taylor’s heart leapt up into her throat, she felt her power prickle at the edge of her awareness, could see the motes of orange beginning to collect around her hands, between her fingers.

The door pushed open.

Her father was on the other side.

The tension left her, bled out sluggishly as the orange motes retreated back into her hands. Dad wasn’t alone, though, three other people were with him. One was a woman with short, not-quite-shoulder-length blonde hair and with delicate, decided pretty features. She was dressed like a businesswoman, with the suit-like top and pencil-skirt combo, and had heels high enough that they frankly almost hurt to look at.

Next was a man, about Dad’s age, with a face full of whiskers and was only a little shorter than her father. He was dressed in a similar suit, though around his neck was a lanyard that led down to a card with ‘PRT’ emblazoned across it in big, blocky blue lettering.

Finally, there was one last man, looking in his mid-to-late 30s, with a head of curly brown hair and skin a matching colour. He had his hands folded behind his back, though a small folder peeked out from around the side.

Dad was the first to approach, breaking free from the group with a lurch, rushing up to her side. His eyes scanned over her rapid-fire, lingering where splotches of her own blood still clung to her skin, looking for the wounds. The worry painted on his face was tense, taut, his hands were fists at his side and the veins in his neck stood in sharp contrast to the red flush climbing its way up his neck and towards his face. He was angry, but she was pretty sure not at her.

“Hey,” she managed to croak.

Dad faltered, face breaking a little, looking up at her. “You’re okay?”

“Fixed me up,” she said, trying to inject more cheer about that process into her voice than she really felt. Panacea had visited her unexpectedly when they were still trying to discuss how to penetrate her skin when scalpels weren’t digging in hard enough and had offered to do it herself. Taylor had taken it, expecting she might force the arrow out using her flesh, but hadn’t quite expected her to cause her stomach to open up like a second mouth so she could pull it out normally before sealing it shut. It had been a, frankly, deeply uncomfortable experience, and she hadn’t quite been able to ask why she did it that way.

Dad turned away, beckoned the blonde woman forward, who strut with an almost intimidating grace right up. “Carol, this is my daughter...” he trailed off, awkwardly.

“Lightshow,” Carol - apparently - finished for him. “Remember, the fewer people who know...”

Dad and Carol both glanced pointedly towards the other two.

“...the better it is for her, I know,” Dad finished. “Ta—Lightshow, this is your lawyer, Carol Dallon.”

She blinked. Something about that name sounded familiar.

Carol reached out with one hand, offering it up. Taylor took it gingerly, letting her arm be shaken up and down.

“I also go by Brandish, if you’re curious,” Carol said rather simply. “I understand the situation you just experienced was tremendously traumatizing, and can empathize, but we do need to discuss what we’ll be doing going forwards.”

“The school board is willing to settle,” the man at the back said, voice a complete monotone.

Carol glanced his way, eyebrow raised. “And what, exactly, do they think _settling_ is, in this instance?”

“Your client will be unable to bring charges against the school, and the school will not seek recompense for the disastrous fight your client took—”

At once, people started shouting. Carol snapped something at the man, Dad just outright escalated to bellowing something at him, the man returned with equal anger, yelling about capes and everything getting lost in the noise and—

A thunderous clap filled the air, shattering the noise into silence. The man with the whiskers on his face smiled soothingly at them. “Please, stop fighting. We’re here to figure out what’s best for Lightshow’s future, going forward. We will achieve nothing by yelling at one another.” Turning more directly to her, he made another smile, one of those gentle smiles you give to frightened animals. She wasn’t a huge fan of it. “Hello, my name’s Lawrence Cortes, and I’m here standing in for the PRT. It’s nice to meet you, Lightshow.”

Taylor blinked sluggishly at him, catching sight of Carol’s face screwing up like she had been forced to bite into a lemon, distaste clear in the way her lips tugged down. Turning back to him, she tried to smile herself, but wasn’t really feeling it, not that he commented on it. “It’s... good to meet you.”

Lawrence smiled dazzlingly. “See? That isn’t so hard. We can talk like adults, now. I think we should get down to the brass tacks of things, yes?”

* * *

“This still leaves the matter of the hospital bills,” Dad said, voice gruff.

Taylor stared at the ceiling, trying not to let her head hurt.

“As I said before, the school board is interested in settling, but not any further. The hospital bills are yours to shoulder, and that’s non-negotiable.”

“Someone was nearly killed in your building,” Carol ground out. “You have the responsibility of keeping your students safe.”

“And your client had the responsibility of not destroying school property, we can both make mistakes,” the man replied smoothly, but harshly. “The school is not in the business of taking responsibility for things they did not cause.”

“It’s eleven-thousand dollars,” Dad cut in. “You have a budget, is it so small as to be unable to cover that?”

“It’s more that the repairs that will need to be done will likely lead to new repairs as new problems are brought up, and that will be taking up Winslow’s budget for the foreseeable future.”

“You wouldn’t _have_ to if you kept your building up to code—” Dad snarled.

“You’re a working man, Mr. Hebert, you and I both know the realities,” the man cut back, less than impressed. “You can’t have it work only one way.”

The door clicked open, Taylor canting her head back down to catch Lawrence slipping in through a small gap in the door, phone in one hand. “Just got off the line with my superiors,” he said brightly, an ominous packet of papers clutched in his other hand. “We have an offer to extend to you.”

“Now, just wait—” Carol started.

“We will cover the hospital bills in full if you join the Wards.”

Dad erupted again, so did Carol. Words were thrown around, yelling about _coercive intent_ and _danger_ and _my daughter_ and—the headache she was having, it just grew, and grew, and grew, and she felt the restraint of the blankets, and she felt the tip of an arrow looking down at her. It built in her chest again, squirmy and knotted and—

“I’ll do it.”

Every head snapped around to her. Dad yelled out an affronted “ _Taylor!_ ”, not that anyone commented on her real name being used.

Carol looked at her with something like pity. “Now, don’t jump to conclusions, we can still—”

“I want to help the world,” which was technically true, but not really the truth. “I want to be helpful. I have these powers—why not use them? If it gets my dad out of paying out of pocket because our shitty private insurance doesn’t cover parahuman-related crimes, then so be it.”

“Language,” Dad chided, though it sounded defeated.

“To be clear,” Lawrence started, bringing his hands up in a show of surrender. “This isn’t me pressuring you. I know this seems like I’m exploiting you by doing this. The PRT has an agreement with the hospital to put a pause on paying your hospital dues for another three months, with no interest. You can take that time to come to the decision whether or not you want to join, though personally, considering the only non-PRT, hero-aligned team in Brockton Bay is family only...”

He sent a pointed look at Carol, who equally as pointedly did not return it.

“Well, you’ll have troubles as an independent without a team, for certain, and the Wards is a great place to at least get your foot in the door. You’re allowed to leave whenever you’d like to, without regaining the debt, though we require a minimum of three months of employment and at least one thorough testing of your powers,” Lawrence continued easily, walking forward to drop the wad of papers down on the table that her father, Carol, and the lawyer from the school had been sharing.

“Then we can—”

“Would joining now make things less complicated?” Taylor interrupted, her Dad sending her a wounded look, harried almost. She could do this, she wasn’t a kid, she could take responsibility for what was going on.

“Er,” Lawrence sent a look Carol’s way. “Somewhat?”

“Will you protect my dad if Sophia tries to kill him too?”

“Taylor!” Dad exploded, just about jumping to his feet.

“That was the other thing,” Lawrence interrupted smoothly. “Superiors say, Shadow Stalker is missing. We went to her home and found her room torn apart, she clearly knows how bad things have gotten. We’ve got a warrant out for her arrest for attempted murder and assault with a deadly weapon, among others, but... ah.”

He made a vague motion.

Taylor shut her eyes, tried to imagine what she could... even _use_ her powers for. Lasers. They were good, Legend made lasers, she... she wanted to be a hero. Sure, that wasn’t what she had expected to be waking up this morning, but now that she had them, didn’t it make sense to take the leap? There weren’t any other institutions in Brockton Bay which hosted heroes, no corporate teams, no independent teams either, not that she could join anyway. She could go after Sophia in the Wards, it made perfect sense.

She... she didn’t want to get caught up in rules, regulations, in _teenage drama_ but then she’d just blown her school up and was facing her dad being driven destitute if she didn’t. They might, _might_ be able to scavenge up enough to cover it, but she doubted it. Alan would find out eventually that Sophia did this to her, and he at least knew Sophia and Emma were close. Anything that would implicate Emma, he’d defend against. He was her _dad_ , and he was the only person who might be willing to field even close to enough money to cover the debt to her dad without being a loan shark about it.

“You’ll protect him?”

“We’ll protect both of you, as best we can, with or without you joining,” Lawrence reasserted firmly.

“Are you sure?” Dad said from somewhere outside of her line-of-sight.

She was. She could do this. She could... could be _better_. The shock was wearing off, she could figure something out. “I am.”


End file.
